Heaven's A Lie
by GoldringI
Summary: Princess Quinn of Lima must go into hiding after her Father's castle is attacked. Faberry & Brittana,   others. Previously published on LJ as the 'Untitled Glee Fantasy Project' - should be noted to now be going in a slightly different direction.
1. Character Sketches

**A/N: These were originally outlines I did for a friend of mine to do some artwork from, but unfortunately that has not come to pass. **

**Also, I've since gone in a slightly different story direction with this project, and I believe I've softened Quinn somewhat from how she's described here.**

**If you know the title of the album**** that the song I've used to rebrand this comes from, you can probably guess the new direction (no pun intended, thankfully). If not, it's revealed at the end of Chapter 2, anyway.**

**Also also: It's my Thirtieth birthday today! (21/12 Where I live.) Yay me for approaching middle-age.**

**On with the fic:**

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Peasant (The Princess)<strong>_

It is on days like these, with clear air, fine soil, just a touch of breeze, and no interruptions from doltish country-boy admirers, that I find it hard to feel sorry for what I have lost.

After my flight, flowing dresses became hair shirts, a quill pen a pitchfork, and I complained bitterly to Fr. Schuester, the priest who has hidden me. But all he did was repeat one word: "Disappear."

And he was right, and I took to this life surprisingly quickly. Tending the land is hard, but rewarding, and leaves plenty of time for contemplation – in the civilised mind, at least; sometimes I wonder if the people here would know the meaning of the word 'contemplation' if it came up and whacked them on the head whilst they tried to decide which of the two ales the barkeep had spat in less that day – and I find myself hating the me that resided in the castle.

Cold, cruel, and infinitely rapacious. How many serving girls did I get through? How many did I make cry because they were saving themselves?

(Alright, so I can only think of one that cried – but surely the hideous monster that I was then would not have been satisfied with that?)

So maybe, if I could get within a hundred yards of her without being executed, I would shake the Abbess' hand, rather than slit her throat for having my Father, the heir to this wretched little Kingdom of Lima, killed as he slept.

Except – whenever I see _**her**_, just passing in the street, listening to her sing for her supper in the tavern, but especially when she takes another leering creature up into her room with that horrific look of resignation on her face.

Then, I long to be a Princess again.

To build a concert hall for that voice.

To stand side by side in matching white dresses in the chapel my ancestors built.

To make sure that the only facial expression she _ever_ needs again – _for the rest of her life_ – is that magnificent smile.

To save her.

For her, I would raise an army and reclaim my birthright.

For her, I would gut the Abbess.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Bard (The Whore)<strong>_

I can't remember when I sang for the first time. My Fathers tell me I started at five, but my memory is excellent, and I'm sure it must've been before then. Maybe I sang in my Mother's womb. I hope she did, so that she would've had some comfort before she passed.

There is nothing better than the looks on the faces of the crowd in my Fathers' tavern after I finish regaling them with the latest songs from the capital, or standards that make the old people smile. Sometimes we get as many as twenty patrons, just to hear me!

Admittedly, some of the people come for other things, but I'm sure that we'll have enough money soon for the taxman and the Abbess and still keep afloat, then I won't need to do it anymore.

I'm sure some people think my Fathers pushed me into it – the tavern has never done brilliantly well and an attractive daughter is quite the asset – but the truth is it was my idea.

It started with the lecherous old men when I was twelve. The looks and the comments when I was flushed from a particularly energetic solo. Of course, I was disgusted by it, but as the months drew on, my most ardent admirers would get more and more vocal about how much I would cost. At first I didn't know what they meant, but it soon became clear with the cadence of their laughter.

One night, when I was fourteen, after a day when my Fathers had done nothing but argue and cry over finances, I approached the men and had them bid on my first time.

I raised a months takings at the bar for one hour of rough, initially quite painful, sex. I know I shall never raise that sum again, but I hold out hope that some Lord might see me and wish to keep me. I could accept that fate for my Fathers' sake.

Sometimes, of course, it is not a man I take but a woman. These are the best times. I don't know why, though – most of the women around here are burlier than the men, and my first time with one was a hundred times worse than the aforementioned incident, but it still felt – not _better_, obviously, but perhaps – more correct?

Once the Abbess visited us and she gave a sermon on the evils of men who sleep with other men, like my Fathers (she seemed obsessed with the apparent 'sneakiness' of appearing 'normal'). Perhaps there are women who are the same. Perhaps I am one of them.

Certainly, the only person I can recall actually desiring the companionship of is a girl. She is so beautiful, and can only be about my own age (seventeen as I write). She is a farmer's hand, working for Fr. Schuester at the Priory, but she can't have done it long, for I actually shook her hand the other day – after she came up to me to say how good I was – and her hands are quite smooth. Maybe she is the daughter of a fallen Lord, forced to work to clear a debt to the church. Or, maybe she is an orphan.

I see her looking at me after I have finished my first stage for the night, the look on her face mirrors my Fathers'.

I like that she has never approached me for that other show, but it does not matter. She would not be at the Priory if she had the funds to rescue me.

She is not a Lord or a Lady. She cannot save me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Thief (The Victim)<strong>_

I swear to you, one of these days I'm going to fucking kill her. From the first day I was handed over to Schuester for my labour and saw her there clear as day, sweating in the vegetable patch, I've lain awake at night, fantasizing about how I'd do it.

Maybe with the fork, through her guts...

Maybe decapitated with an edging spade...

Maybe cut her heart out with a trowel...

Or maybe, since I'm not allowed to use any of those fucking implements, I'll just strangle her with my heavy, manacled, hands.

Like Schuester would ever let me get that close; compared to other dipshit fucking Priests, he's almost intelligent.

Fuck it, maybe he'd even understand: "I'm sorry, Father, but I couldn't see her as a Princess, deserving of my loyalty and devotion, I could only see her as my former Mistress, who held me down in the kitchens as she took my gift."

"_AS SHE RAPED ME!"_

"So really, it's not my fault that I caved her head in with a rock. No, Father, not my fault at all. Not when it's her fault that she couldn't stand the sight of me around the catsle any more. That it's HER FUCKING FAULT that I was kicked out of the only home I'd ever known and left to find my own way with only the clothes on my back."

"Her fault, Father. Not mine."

Ha! Somehow I don't think so, otherwise he wouldn't be hiding her at all.

She couldn't stand the sight of me. Now she doesn't even seem to recognize me. Would that make it all better? If she acknowledged me? To her I'm just another thief, she probably thinks I do it for fun. Fuck her. Maybe I should tell her we grew up together. That my Mother served her Mother. Was the woman killed alongside her, trying to protect her from people like me, hired by the Abbess.

Or is that the route I should take? Shop her to the Abbess? The reward is supposed to be huge.

No. As much as I despise her, my Mother would never have stood for that. She'd've killed me herself.

So I'll just sit here in my chains, and hope that the Abbess's assassin's find her before I finally snap.

After all, I would hate for my Mom to be mad at me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Dancer (The Assassin)<strong>_

I always did love to dance.

When I was young, anyway. Nowadays, not so much.

When I was young, I danced to a different beat every second of every day!

Now the beat is always the same, and the people the Abbess sends me to dance with don't like my moves.

(And have you ever tried to dance on blood-soaked marble?)

I just want to dance a proper dance again, with a partner who wants to, and wants to do it again (and again!, and again!).

Now the Abbess wants me to find the Princess and dance with her.

I used to dance the best with her, when we were growing up.

But now I really don't want to.


	2. Prologue: Flight

**_Prologue: Flight_**

* * *

><p>"Run."<p>

That was the command. And when it's given by the Captain of the Guard, who's just broken down your bedroom door and grabbed you from your bed, pushing you towards the door shards before you can even don a pair of slippers, you obey.

You run.

Following him without question.

You knew this was coming, after all.

Three attempts on your Father's life in the last year. It was only a matter of time before they attacked the castle itself.

You can't believe they actually got in.

How did they get in?

Why are you running from them in your own home?

It doesn't matter. They got in. You are running.

You turn a corner and run into two of them. The Captain's blade guts one before he can blink, you catch the man's sword as it falls from his grasp, and, with the most ladylike of twirls, slice the throat of the other, spraying the wall with the deep crimson of arterial blood.

You've never been more glad that you have no brothers for your Father to've trained in weaponcraft.

You're going down, now, into the bowels of the castle. Towards the kitchens. Your heart sinks. You haven't been down here in a year. Not since... No. No time for guilt.

Just run.

As fast as you can.

The two of you barrel into the kitchens. Empty, thank god.

As you run through, you spare a glance at the long table, scene of The Worst Thing You've Ever Done™.

(It was just... The Way her hair caught the candlelight...)

So the guilt comes anyway, but there's no time for you to dwell on it, as the door you're nearing opens to the tune of five attackers.

But the two of you have surprise, and momentum, which takes care of the first two. You slash the legs of the third, the Captain goes for the throat of the fourth. The fifth throws his weapon at you and then just blinks as you split him from heart to testes.

You continue to run, trying not to slip on the blood.

You mostly succeed.

You run into the open air, the small courtyard, used by the staff to bring goods into the castle.

You run through to the stables on the other side, and it's only the Captain's swift reactions that stop you from attacking the people there. The Captain's Lieutenant is finishing saddling a horse, one of two, the other ready to continue their flight. He looks tired, and you try not to notice the dark liquid dripping from his hand. The two men with him look almost as bad.

The Captain thanks him as you mount your steed, then mounts his. You cast a glance to the men whilst spurring the horse into the courtyard.

"Thank you."

It's addressed to them all, the Captain included. They simply nod.

The Captain takes the lead as the two of you race out of the confines of the castle.

You think you hear shouting behind you, but neither of you look back.

The road is long, and hard. You have no idea where the Captain is taking you.

You wish you'd paid more attention during Royal visits to the countryside, instead of just smiling and waving and not really caring where you were travelling through as long as the staff at whatever country house you stayed at for the night knew what temperature you liked your bath.

Now, you simply hope that there will be a change of nightdress, and find yourself not really caring that there might not be.

You start to lose the adrenaline from the flight. Your body tires, and pain seeps in.

Your right foots feels more painful than your left. You wonder if it's a splinter from your door.

It's only the that pain, sometimes catching on the stirrup, that keeps you awake.

The sky has turned from black to blue, dawn threatening to break out within the hour, when the Captain finally reigns in his horse. You draw up alongside him, and use what light there is to peruse the building he has pulled up at.

A small run-down priory.

It could be worse.

The Captain dismounts, motioning for you to stay on your horse as he enters the walled garden in front of the building.

He's not gone long enough for you to start worrying. You're too tired to worry anyway.

He reappears with a monk in tow, holding a lantern. He looks like a nice man. Earnest, at least. The Captain helps you down, keeping you held firmly in his arms.

The monk leads the two of you into his residence. He puts his lantern down on a table, and the Captain places you on a bench, before taking your hands and placing them in the monk's.

"Princess Quinn, this is Fr. Schuester. You can trust him, Your Highness. He practically raised me, and I turned out alright."

It feels the time for humour.

"Don't forget that Ladysmaids do gossip, Captain."

He grins that lopsided grin that apparently charms them so, then becomes serious again.

"I must go back, my Lady. My men will need help retaking the castle."

You both know that's not going to happen.

You withdraw your right hand from Fr. Schuester's, and grip the Captain's arm tightly, putting your last ounce of strength into the act.

"Thank you, Hudson."

"It was my duty, Your Highness. And my honour."

He grips your arm just as tightly, and then places your hand back in the monk's.

You can no longer keep your eyes open. You hear the monk say goodbye to the Captain.

Opening and shutting your heavy eyes one last time, you see the Captain nod to the monk.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again.


	3. Chapter 1: Adjustment

**Chapter 1: _Adjustment_**

* * *

><p>Quinn awoke to a cockerel's crow, her whole body aching from the events of the previous night. She did not attempt to delude herself that it had all been some horrible nightmare; the pain in her foot had kept her tossing and turning, constantly aware of her situation.<p>

At some point Fr. Schuester had carried her to one of the priory's cells, and Quinn found herself to be grateful that whatever Order he was affiliated with did not appear to believe in foregoing luxury. The bed, whilst not of a royal standard, had been comfortable enough during the brief periods of genuine rest her foot had granted her, and the rest of the room was similarly pleasantly appointed.

_Maybe this won't be so bad for a couple of days._

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, trying to work up the courage to stand and see just how painful her foot really was. She spent a full five minutes staring at her foot, and had just reached a decision to attempt it when there was a knock at the door and Fr. Schuester entered, holding a tray with bread and water.

_So perhaps this place isn't as rich as I thought._

The priest beamed at her. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Princess Quinn, it's my honour to have you here. How are you feeling? Can you stand?"

"I was about to see."

"Ah! Let me help you."

He placed the tray down on a small table with a chair in front of it, and moved to her side.

"I'm sure I won't need help."

"Still, your Highness."

Seeing that he was going nowhere, and determined to prove herself no invalid, Quinn rushed the manoeuvre, placing too much weight too soon, and she collapsed into Fr. Schuester's arms, screaming in agony. He sat her back down on the bed and patted her shoulder in what he obviously thought was a soothing gesture. She glared at him. Attempting a reassuring smile instead, he retrieved the tray and placed it beside her.

"Well, at least you're finally awake."

Quinn gave him her best incredulous look.

"What do you mean, 'finally'? The cock has only just crowed."

He let out a small chuckle.

"Oh, the cock crows at any given opportunity, your Highness. We're actually well into the eleventh hour."

"I see."

The priest indicated the food.

"You should eat, your Highness. You're going to have quite an adjustment over the next few days."

"How so?"

"Finn - that is, Captain Hudson, your guard - wishes for you to remain anonymous..."

"Obviously."

"...So I'm going to have to treat you like any other orphan. You will work, either in the fields or in the priory itself. You will not be waited on. You will be just the same as all the other poor peasant girls and boys who pass through here. I will do my best to limit such contact, but you may even have to work with the convict labourer teams at times."

He paused, trying to gauge Quinn's reaction, but her face remained stoic.

"And, of course, I will be addressing you as such. As soon as this conversation is over, when I have left this room, neither 'Princess', nor 'Your Highness', nor any other remotely royal identifier shall be used again."

"Of course."

"You will simply be Quinn."

"Of course."

A thought occurred to her.

"Why not something else? I have other names to choose from - Lucy, Elise..."

"Unnecessary. Quinn was the most popular name of your birth year, for obvious reasons, and there are five more in this village alone. Three of whom are blonde girls of similar age to you. Those other names would probably be more obvious. Whoever went after your family would doubtlessly be expecting you to hide under a pseudonym, after all."

"Doubtlessly."

She sighed, and put her face in her hands. The laughed.

"At least the accommodation isn't bad."

"Actually, this is my bedroom. We have no apothecary area here, so you are free to sleep here until your foot is healed, but after then you will have to sleep in the dormitory."

"Won't it raise suspicion that I was in here at all?"

"Oh, no, I always seem to be giving up my bed to the ill and infirm."

Quinn cast a worried glance down at the sheets. Fr. Schuester grinned.

"Don't worry, they're quite clean. There's a washer woman in the village here who assures it."

"I'll take your word for it."

Her sardonic reply was met only with another beaming grin.

"Father..." she dragged her mind through the previous night's events, "Schuester?"

The priest nodded.

"You may call me Father William, if you prefer. Some of the other orphans do."

"Father Schuester," Quinn would swear his smile dropped a little, "Where _is_ 'here', exactly?"

"The village of McKinley."

"I don't think I've heard of it."

"That's understandable. We're quite out of the way here, and it's been many years since a Royal carriage so much as passed through."

He patted her shoulder again.

"I think that we've talked enough for now, Quinn. You should eat, and rest some more. I'll walk you around the grounds in the afternoon."

He started to leave. She called after him.

"Father Schuester?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Thank you."

He smiled at her, and exited the room, leaving her with her thoughts. But she had only one.

_Quinn. Just Quinn now._

* * *

><p>The afternoon was halfway over when Fr. Schuester came again. He had brought a cane with him, and with both its and his own assistance Quinn was able to stand without much difficulty. Not wishing to prolong her discomfort, he suggested a simple walk around the priory gardens.<p>

Quinn was trepidatious at first, but fortunately the priory gardens amounted only to a small square walled area attached to the front of the building and its accompanying chapel.

"Captain Hudson brought me through here last night."

"With my help, yes."

After only a few feet, Quinn stopped to sit at a bench. Fr. Schuester remained standing.

"Thank you again for that, Father. And please sit down, I can't stand hoverers."

The priest sat beside her, concern etched onto his face.

"Do you want to go back inside?"

Quinn smiled gently at him, and shook her head.

"No, we can continue in a second. I'm just enjoying the breeze. Also, it took me five minutes to walk the twenty yards from your quarters to this bench, so I think a break is in order."

He returned her smile.

"It was nowhere near that long, Quinn. You're doing very well."

She grimaced.

"It _felt_ that long, believe me," she looked down at her foot, "How bad is it, really?"

"You trod on a nail, and by the time you got here it was quite well embedded. You shouldn't worry, though, it wasn't rusted and the wound is quite clean. I'm sure it feels worse than it is."

"I can't believe I slept through you removing it."

"Oh it was quite straight. One swift yank and it was out; you barely twitched. And I would hardly term what you did after arriving here _sleep_, Quinn. I think it only turned into that this morning."

"What makes you say that?"

"That's when you started snoring."

Quinn cocked an eyebrow at him, fixing him with her iciest of glares. He had the decency to look sheepish. She relented, letting out a sly smile.

"I suppose I'm going to have to get used to people other than the Captain showing their sense of humour around me."

"Finn never was overly bothered with propriety."

"No."

Quinn looked out over the small garden. It was maybe thirty yards square, with a border running around the inside of the wall, then the path, and then four square beds forming an internal cross pattern with a fountain in the centre where the dividing paths met. The mix of plants was what she presumed to be standard monkish fair: mainly herbs and vegetables, with some roses adding colour. The interior beds were edged in box.

"I hope he's alright. That he didn't try and do anything stupid after he left me here. He must've known the castle was lost, I swear I saw the great hall on fire as we were fleeing."

She lost herself in the bubbling of the fountain.

"I wonder how many servants made it out alive."

She sighed, and tapped her cane on the ground. Putting on too wide a smile, she turned to Fr. Schuester.

"Enough of this. Let's see if I can finish the circuit, yes?"

The priest humoured her, returning the smile.

"Yes! Do you need help standing?"

"Well let's see."

Quinn put all her weight onto her cane and stood, wincing only slightly. She looked down at Fr. Schuester, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Apparently you don't," said the priest, getting up himself, "But still, I think for now..."

He offered her an arm to hold. She took it gratefully.

"Probably for the best in the long run."

"Probably," he agreed.

They continued their walk, Quinn stopping occasionally to lean into Fr. Schuester for a rest, masking the action by running her hand through some heather, or smelling a rose. She asked him about various plants, trying to show willing as she had been taught to do for royal visits. The perambulation took longer than Quimm would've liked, and it wasn't until they had almost finished the tour that she asked a major question that had sat too long playing on her mind.

"Is this where I would work?"

"Until your foot is fully healed, certainly."

"There are other places?"

"We maintain a small vineyard, and an orchard. There is also a quarry, but we have an agreement with the local justice of the peace, so only prisoners assigned hard labour by the courts have to worry about that. It should be noted that we do sometimes have small groups of mainly female prisoners working here in the garden as well."

"The belief being it assists rehabilitation, I presume?"

"There is some evidence to that extent, yes. Of course you and the other orphans would have as little contact as possible with them, and none with those serving hard labour time."

"How many others are here?"

"There are three at the moment, fortunately all of similar age to yourself. I set them to work in the vineyard today, to keep them out of your way. I'll let them introduce themselves at supper."

"When is that, precisely?"

"A good few hours yet, Quinn. We have plenty of candles to burn for when the sun goes down. And a fireplace large enough to roast two pigs at once."

"Useful. And I'm glad for that, I'd quite like to rest again before having to make conversation."

"I should refresh your bandages, too."

"Hmm."

With that non-committal grunt, the two of them re-entered the building.

* * *

><p>Quinn awoke to the sound of voices outside her window. One was female, and sang in a beautiful, lilting soprano:<p>

"The heart's desire is so complex -  
>one moment true, and false the next -<br>that love's most urgent quality,  
>most requisite, is constancy.<p>

Yes, other virtues play some part -  
>like silent suffering,<br>that gentle handmaid of the heart...

But if it's flames that leap about  
>within your breast - no doubt<br>some other flame can put them out!

Our love's not furtive or impure:  
>we must try to ensure<br>its innocent delights endure."

The other was male, and, well, not so much:

"The flames by which I die -  
>yet which I glorify -<br>remain invisible to men:

save she extinguish it  
>by whom their fire was lit<br>never will it sink again.

Thus, yours is the command to give -  
>to sentence to death - or let me live."<p>

They continued, and Quinn recognised the song - it was called Summer Love, and she wondered if the voices should really be singing a song of seduction outside a monk's window. Especially if, as she presumed, they were two of his wards. She further wondered if she would be able to guess which of the three others these two were.

_I'm sure all I'll have to do is see which of them are making eyes at each other behind Fr. Schuester's back._

The voices finished their song, bursting into fits of giggles at the ending, and moved off.

_Maybe they were singing it deliberately to irritate him. He seems the sort to inspire it._

As soon as she thought this, she could picture her Mother admonishing her.

_Now Quinn, that was very rude, Fr. Schuester has been nothing but kind to you. Who are you to criticise his manner?_

The voice in her head was so clear, so perfect, that all she could was burst into tears.

_Sorry Mommy._

_I miss you so much._

It had been two years since bandits murdered her Mother. She thought now that perhaps it had been the first salvo against her Father, although at the time it was believed to be a simple robbery. Well, as simple as a robbery can be when it results in the murder of the Queen.

Her Mother had been in the habit, once or twice a month, of having a picnic lunch with her Lady's maid, Alicia Lopez. The two of them would travel to one of the parks situated outside the castle's walls, leave their other guards, and have a pleasant time pretending to simply be old friends. Quinn had attended some of these lunches when younger, and she had marvelled at the easy rapport that her Mother had had with someone who was essentially a commoner - she herself had never been that at ease around members of the household staff, not even Lopez's daughter, San-

_No. I can't say her name. It's not right._

-not even _her_, who would also sometimes accompany them - and those days when she had seen her Mother so carefree, so much more full of life than when she was around her Father (she even let Lopez call her _Judy_, and even more familiarly, _Jude_, to Alicia's _Alice_ or _Lisa_), or dealing with the comings and goings of court, had counted amongst the best of her childhood.

Quinn had actually been asked if she wished to attend that day, but she still couldn't look either of them in the eye, and had declined her Mother's request.

It was only when they were late for supper that her Father sent Captain Hudson out to retrieve them. He was angry that his wife and 'her woman' had skewed his schedule for the running of the castle. Quinn didn't like her Father at times like that, when it seemed like he didn't love her Mother.

The tears he shed later made up for it, though.

Captain Hudson found her Mother's guards passed out from drink in one of the gatehouses. They would later claim her Mother had sent them away completely, rather than staying just far enough away to be out of sight.

This was not unheard of, because Lopez was far more than just a Lady's maid, she had been trained as a bodyguard. Regarded as one of the best swordspersons in the land, she had even taught Quinn some tricks that her Father refused to. Her Mother's life was never safer than when she was near; she had told Quinn often that she would die for her.

The guards told him where they had last seen her Mother. He had them arrested, and then organised a search party.

It was the Captain himself who found them, in one of their favourite clearings. It had a particularly lovely view of the mountains.

They were found with Lopez covering her Queen, her friend, protecting her to the last; one sword run through them both.

Protecting her to the last.

_Despite what I did._

They had obviously put up quite a fight, their clothes were torn, their limbs cut. Lopez's sword lay broken at their side, the tip protruding from the chest of a dead bandit lying a slight bit farther off. Another two were near him. One of them was clutching her Mother's necklace, so obviously it was a robbery gone wrong.

Captain Hudson felt that her Mother's guards should've been imprisoned, because they could've been telling the truth about her Mother sending them away. As it was, they were to be put on trial as co-conspirators, which carried the death penalty. It never got that far though, they were found hanged in their cell before the trial was ever started; it was presumed their guilty conscience had got to them.

At the time, knowing her Mother's habits, Quinn had sided with Captain Hudson. Vociferously.

But now, she wondered.

Maybe it _was_ all a grand conspiracy.

Or maybe it was coincidence.

She wondered, but as the thoughts ate into her mind she was saved by a soft knock at the door, with Fr. Schuester's head swiftly appearing from behind it.

"Quinn? Ah good, you're awake. Do you think you're ready to join us for supper, or would you like me to bring some in here?"

"No, thank you, Father, I'll join you. Better to get it over with quickly, or rumour will spread."

"Ha! True enough!"

_Why does he always grin as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't've?_

Quinn threw her legs over the side of the bed and tested her foot. She winced.

"I'm afraid I'll still need some help though."

"Of course."

Fr. Schuester moved over to her and supported her as she stood, stooping first to retrieve her cane, dropped on the floor as he had laid her down earlier. She found she didn't need to lean quite so heavily on him as before, but both he and the cane were definitely still necessary.

The pair of them left the room and hobbled down the hallway, passed the dormitory, and into the small dining hall. Sitting around a table designed for around eight people were two Orientals, a girl and a boy, and an effeminate boy that reminded Quinn vaguely of her Mother's dressmaker.

They looked her over with varying amounts of suspicion as Fr. Schuester helped to sit her down. Once he was done, introductions were in order.

"Hey guys, this is Quinn, she arrived last night. She has an injured foot so she'll be using my room until she's healed up, which obviously means I'll have to sleep with you in the dormitory - but I'm sure we'll manage for a couple of days!"

He sounded a bit too enthused for Quinn's liking, and given the looks she was being thrown - which Fr. Schuester appeared somehow not to see - she was sure the two Orientals would've cheerfully shivved her there and then, with the other boy not far behind. She decided meekness might be a good course of action, and slumped slightly in her seat before speaking.

"Hello."

Her effort to appear passive seemed to work, and the tension - of which Fr. Schuester was _still_ oblivious - reduced back to normal 'Who is this person?' levels. In fact, the effeminate boy looked positively delighted.

"Ooh, a fellow townie! You can tell me what the new season's like!"

_God, he even sounds like my Mother's dressmaker - and she was a woman._

"I'm sorry?"

"The season? For Fashion?"

"Oh. Sorry, er...?"

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"Sorry Kurt, but I've never been one to attention to such things."

_Which is true enough. The newest blades from the East, or artists from the West, on the other hand..._

Kurt's face fell.

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you, anyway. Like I said, I'm Kurt Hummel, and these two are Tina and Mike."

The girl gave her a sweet smile, that was just slightly tinged with shyness.

"Tina Cohen-Chang."

The boy just gave her a somewhat stoic nod.

"Michael Chang."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. They looked a little young to be married, and Quinn didn't like the other possibility, given that they were clearly the two she had heard outside the window. The pair must've registered her specific concern, because they looked at each other quickly before turning back to her and speaking in unison.

"No relation."

_Thank God. I may be Royal, but I draw the line at incest._

"So, Quinn, what brings a fellow townie such as yourself all the way out here?"

Quinn regarded Kurt, her 'meek' act temporarily forgotten.

"Why do keep calling me that? The castle is surrounded by a _city_, not a town."

He was affronted, taken aback by her harsh tone.

"Well, because that's what people from the capital are _called_, Quinn. Why don't you know that?"

_Shit._

"We lived right on the outskirts of the city. My parents were extremely religious. They didn't mix with our neighbours, and they taught me at home, so I didn't go out at all often. Certainly never to anywhere I might have been called anything other than 'Quinn'."

_Never have I been gladder of having my Father's mind._

"Oh. So again, how _did_ you end up out here?"

Despite Kurt apparently believing her, Quinn glared at him.

"The same way all of us did, I believe. My parents died."

"Touché."

Quinn sat back in her chair and allowed the meek mask to fall back into place. She sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"No," said Fr. Schuester, "It's alright, Quinn. It was only last night, after all - you can't be expected to adjust to your new circumstances right away. Frankly, I'm amazed you haven't spent the day in tears."

And the meekness fell again, with a withering glare.

"_We do __not__ cry._"

"Of course, of course," he rubbed his hands together, unsure of his next course of action, "Why don't I bring the food out? Give the four of you a chance to talk plainly without my fusty old presence."

Quinn watched him leave, and then turned to the table, trying very hard to memorize every turn and knot.

Anything rather than talk to the others.

"Quinn."

The soft voice made her turn to face Mike Chang.

"It won't help, but you need to know..."

"Yes?"

"It gets worse before it gets better. The guilt."

"What guilt?"

"You survived."

She turned back to the table, and he said no more. Fr. Schuester came back in carrying a tray with five bowls, and promptly set them out on the table.

They ate mostly in silence, with the priest occasionally trying to start conversation by asking about everyone's day. After some stilted conversation along those lines, when they were almost finished, it was Tina who finally asked the question that Quinn had been dreading.

"How did it happen?"

"I don't think that's a suitable topic for the dinner table, Tina."

"Sorry Fr. Schuester."

Tina cried, silently. Mike rubbed her shoulder in sympathy. He decided to ignore Fr. Schuester's advice.

"Our parents were part of a settler convoy, going west. They got ill on the road. McKinley was the nearest town, so we got left here."

Kurt also teared up.

"My Mother was killed trying to calm a runaway horse. Afterwards, my Father just... ...stopped. He just stopped. He was the blacksmith here in town."

Quinn looked up at him quizzically.

"I thought you said you were from the city?"

"My Mommy was from the city. She was out riding one day when her horse threw a shoe. That's when she met my Father. It was love at first sight."

He smiled through his tears.

"I've never even been to the city. Is it nice?"

"Yes."

Quinn sighed.

"Or at least it was. For all I know it's anarchy now, given what happened."

The other three looked at her, worried.

"Wh-what happened?" Tina stuttered.

Quinn looked over at Fr. Schuester.

"You didn't tell them?"

"No."

"The most important thing to ever happen to this tiny little country and you didn't tell your charges?"

"No."

"_What happened?_" Tina repeated.

"My parents were killed by bandits, or mercenaries, I don't know. Maybe they were those revolutionaries you sometimes hear about. They murdered my parents and burned our house to the ground. I barely escaped thanks to a helpful neighbour boy who knew Fr. Schuester, which is why I'm here."

"What does this have to do with the kingdom?" Kurt asked.

"They were attacking the castle. Our house was just on the way."

"They were attacking the-"

"They killed the King. Princess Quinn too for all I know. The castle was on fire as we left."

The three of them looked shell-shocked. Quinn turned to Fr. Schuester.

"I'm sorry, but I'd like to go to bed now. I'm sure you would like to talk more with these three, but I _need_ to go to bed now. You can tell them more later."

She addressed the others, shaking their hand in turn.

"Michael Chang, Tina Cohen-Chang, Kurt Hummel - Quinn Pierce. Goodnight."

She strained against her stick, and stood. Fr. Schuester got up and assisted her. Just before leaving the dining hall, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. The other three were still in state of shock, just staring blankly into space.

"Michael?"

"Mike."

"Mike... ...it does get better?"

"It does."


	4. Chapter 2: Bartender's Daughter

**A/N: I had meant to post this only a couple of days at the most after posting Chapter 1, but what the Hell - might as well post in the last few minutes of 2011, thus clearing my back catalogue all in one year!**

**Given that I've said that, you would be right in assuming that this is the most recent piece of fanfiction I've written; I'm not certain when I'll update this again, since the response hasn't been quite what I was hoping it might be, but I do intend to finish it. I'm just warning the few of you who have read this that it might be awhile. In the hope of generating more user feedback, I've changed the filters from _Hurt/Comfort/Fantasy_ to _General/Romance_, because whilst I always look at the complete list of fic, other people might be more selective (or, in other words, I just don't want to admit that this story has been almost a complete bust - maybe people can't get past the Rapist!Quinn bits in the Character Sketches segment).**

**For people who _could_ get past the Rapist!Quinn bits in the Character Sketches segment, but still didn't really like them (bad choice of words, but I hope you know what I mean), I hope you like the twist at the end of this Chapter, which sort of makes it - not forgivable, exactly, but, well, you'll see...**

**The twist also explains my cryptic comment about the different story direction in my opening Author's Note of the Character Sketches. And reading that A/N back now, I realise I said that it would anyway. Still, repetition never hurt anybody. Except laboratory mice.**

**It's also also the reason I've removed the Fantasy tag, which I probably shouldn't've put on this in the first place.**

**I've said too much, but people have probably stopped paying attention now anyway.**

**On with the fic:**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: <em>Bartender's Daughter<em>**

It had been two weeks since Captain Hudson had delivered her to Fr. William Schuester of McKinley Priory, and Princess Quinn had settled in surprisingly well. It had only taken a few days for her foot injury to heal sufficiently for her to move in with the other orphans, and once there the remaining ice between herself and the others had thawed quickly; albeit due largely to the fact that she was lying through her teeth about her past and was a fairly decent actress when called upon to be such.

She had come to appreciate Mike Chang's stoicism and dry humour, his absolutely-not-girlfriend-if-Fr.-Schuester-is-anyway-near Tina Cohen-Chang's inherent sweetness, fantastic singing voice and occasional stutter, and Kurt Hummel's biting wit, ability to make hair shirts look stylish, and total sexual disinterest.

Actually, she wasn't that sold on the total sexual disinterest, because it rather threw her to not have to fend anybody off with a stick, sword, or vicious biting words. It felt odd, given that it had been a large part of her life in the castle.

She'd punched the last Lord in the face for getting too handsy. Her Father had _not_ been happy, but she pointed out to him that had she had a blade on her, the diplomatic incident would've been somewhat worse.

_Not that I actually would have killed him, just given him a really nasty scar._

Fortunately her chances of not-murdering the High King's envoys were considerably lessened now she was a nobody working on a glorified farmstead in the middle of nowhere.

Sat on her bunk, in the room she shared with Tina, waiting for the call to breakfast, she sighed.

_I wish I could drive a sword through my bitchiness._

The other girl, who was on kitchen duty, knocked and popped her head around the door.

"Breakfast, Quinn."

"Thank you."

Tina went on her way, humming the opening bars of _personnent hodie_.

_At least Fr. Schuester hasn't tried to get me to sing yet. I don't think any of us are ready for that horror. I mean, I'm a fair singer, but him? I doubt it._

Quinn again sighed, slipped her feet into her simple leather shoes, and got up. She washed her face in the bowl of water provided, and went to breakfast.

* * *

><p>Quinn sat at the table, almost-cheerfully tucking in to her ryebread loaf and ham soup. With the addition of the soup, she assumed they would be working out in the farther fields, and be unable to return to the priory for lunch.<p>

She didn't mind working the fields. It involved working with horses, which Quinn had always enjoyed, and the shires they had to work with were not so different from the warhorses she had been disencouraged from riding as a child (this had led to one of her earliest acts of violence, when aged six she had kicked the shins of a visiting dignitary who had made a comment about how far her legs would be able stretch in the future. Obviously, at the time she hadn't understood why it was a bad thing to say, because her Father said that having good stretchable muscles was useful in swordplay, but her Mother's frowny face had said everything she needed to know to teach the man a lesson).

Quinn was partially right. When Fr. Schuester gave everyone their tasks after breakfast was over, Mike and Tina were assigned to work in the far fields.

_I wonder if they'll actually get any work done?_

Herself and Kurt, however, had other duties.

"Quinn, I think you're well enough now to take the trip into town. Kurt, you can go with her, to show her the way."

Kurt clapped his hands gleefully, and gave her a big grin.

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun!"

Fr. Schuester shook his head, bemused.

"It's just a shopping trip, Kurt. Now you two go and get ready whilst I finalise what we need."

The still-overjoyed boy practically skipped to the room he shared with Mike. Quinn watched him go with a smirk and a shake of her head.

_Actually, scratch that 'practically'._

She stayed behind to talk to the priest.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes. Frankly, it would seem more suspicious if people found out that a young blonde girl was living here that nobody had seen, and who arrived the night of the attack, so this is the lesser of two evils."

"Has word even reached here of the attack on the castle?"

Fr. Schuester appeared shocked that she would even ask.

"Of course, Quinn. It's been two weeks. The whole kingdom is in disarray. Nobody knows what really happened - how the bandits got in, why they felt brave enough to even attempt it, whether it was part of the ongoing revolution, nothing. The High King has sent an army to retake the castle; with the Abbess herself leading it."

"So I should be able to return soon?"

"With any luck, yes. But we can't risk revealing your identity yet, there are still just too many things to question about that night."

"Very well. I suppose I should inform Kurt to try and find something black to wear. My Father may not have been all that popular, but a dead King is still a dead King."

She turned to go and find Kurt, but then something Fr. Schuester said struck her, and she faced him once more.

"Wait - ongoing revolution? What revolution? There's really a revolution? I thought it was just a court joke."

She watched the priest shift gently from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable about what he was about to say.

"Your father... May have been somewhat less... _'All that popular'_ than you would like to admit to yourself. There had been a concerted effort in this area to raise an army against him, with the possible further aim of dethroning the High King himself, or the Abbess. You must know they are not looked favourably on by the peasantry."

"Well, they're responsible for most of the taxes, they wouldn't be."

Quinn shook her head, exasperated.

"This is fantastic, though. Why would Hudson bring me here? Straight into the Lion's mouth?"

"What better place to hide you?"

"There is that, I suppose. But just how serious is this rebellion? Do you think they were behind the attack?"

Fr. Schuester reflected on this.

"No, actually, I don't think they were. So far it's mostly just been noise from malcontents. From what I understand, they wouldn't have the resources to attempt such an action."

"Huh. You made them sound like some enormous band out baying for my blood."

She shook her head.

"Well, with any luck the Abbess and her army will route out these people, such as they are. I understand the hatred of taxes, and the perceived differences between rich and poor, but outright revolution seems extreme. My Father would never let things get that bad. And I'll have one less group of people to worry about."

Quinn walked away, leaving Fr. Schuester's uneasy smile changed into a grimace.

* * *

><p>By the time Quinn had got ready, Kurt had finished hooking up the horses to the cart and was sat, reins in hand, waiting for her. She made a mental note to insist on unhooking them by herself, and hopped into the seat next to him. They set off.<p>

"How far is it to town?"

"About an hour, only. It's not as interesting as the city, of course, but it's not as busy, either."

His chipper mood fell slightly.

"Nor as cosmopolitan."

Quinn turned her head to look at him, but before she could ask him what else he meant by the statement, he gave her a bittersweet smile.

"It's nothing, it doesn't matter. And besides, it's not like I know first hand, is it? But my Mother was given to waxing lyrical."

Quinn nodded, and sat back.

She enjoyed the scenery, and the silence, as the cart wound its way along the road. The Kingdom of Lima, as with the majority of the western parts of the Grand and Exalted Kingdoms of Ohio, was mostly given over to arable land, and the acres and acres of corn shimmered wonderfully in the early morning light.

_Grand and Exalted Kingdoms of Ohio. The High King deserves a revolution just for that._

_Was my Father really that bad?_

Before she could ponder further, Kurt addressed her.

"What did your parents do?"

Quinn continued staring out over the fields, trying to work out a good lie, and cursing herself for not thinking of one earlier. Kurt took her silence for reticence.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"My Father was a lawyer. My Mother just looked after our home. We were nothing special."

"Oh. Still, you must have had wonderful dresses. A lawyer's family must surely look their best."

"Yes. Yes, we did."

Quinn shut her eyes, trying to keep out the thought that the cornfields now just reminded her of her Mother's finest gold thread coat.

"If you don't mind, Kurt, can we not talk about the past?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

She held up a hand to stop his apology.

"I know. It's fine. It's just... I've never been that good with my emotions anyway, tending to bottle them up inside, and I have no particular wish to let them out right now. That's all."

"I understand; Mike thinks you're still in shock."

Quinn grimaced.

"If I am I've been in shock since I was a child."

Kurt didn't know how to respond to that, so he just gave her another bittersweet smile and put a hand on her shoulder. To his surprise as well as her own, Quinn raised a hand to his and squeezed it, before returning his smile.

"Thank you. I suppose it's good, being around people who've been through similar things."

They settled back, and Kurt decided to take Quinn's mind off of things by giving her the reins. Other than idle comments about the weather and the local wildlife, they spoke little the rest of the way into town, each lost in thoughts of loved ones.

* * *

><p>At the outskirts of town, Kurt retook the reins. He took them straight down the far end of the small, almost resolutely linear, township of Lima, giving Quinn a good view of the place. They passed a blacksmith, a dressmaker, butcher, joiner, apothecary, church, grocer, two general goods stores and three inns, one at either end of the main road and one in the middle, acting as a coaching inn and stables. What side streets Quinn could see were where the dwellings of the middle classes lay. She assumed there were poorer areas hidden from view, although even those houses she could see were hardly dripped in gold.<p>

Kurt pulled up to the final tavern, named _The Golden Star_, and the two of them dismounted the cart into the soft mud of the street. Quinn looked up at the slightly dishevelled building. She arched an eyebrow at Kurt.

"Why here?"

"They provide our ale."

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"And obviously that's the most important thing to buy."

"We are _downstream_ from the city. Our water is basically suitable only for washing our clothes. Wait - you haven't been drinking it, have you?"

"I may have taken a sip out of a facebowl, yes."

"Oh, that's alright then. That would've been boiled first. But now you know why we have ale or mead with all our meals."

Quinn shrugged.

"Okay. Where do we go to load up?"

Kurt held up a finger.

"First things first. Let's go and look in the dressmaker's."

He clapped his hands together in excitement. Quinn arched an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Why? To gaze at the latest fashions, of course!"

Kurt tilted his head to the side, reconsidering his statement.

"Well, the latest fashions to have worked their way this far down the societal food chain."

"You really think they'll have new stock with what's been happening in the city?"

"Not really, no. I just like to touch the fabrics. And it's not like we don't have time. Fr. Schuester won't expect us to come back until the afternoon at the earliest. He always gives us a lot of leeway due to not letting us out very much. Or did you not notice how long Mike and Tina took doing this errand last week?"

"Yes, but I thought that was just because they spend as much time as possible having s-"

"La-la-la-la-la-la!"

_Did he really just stick his fingers in his ears? Yes. Yes he did._

Quinn sighed.

"Fine, let's just go and touch some cloth."

She sniggered at her base humour. Kurt was nonplussed.

"I don't get it."

* * *

><p>The interior of <em>Pillsbury &amp; Daughter<em> was spotlessly clean. So spotlessly clean it was the first thing anybody new to enter the shop ever noticed. Quinn was no exception.

"Does the owner have bad lungs?"

"No, she's just... ...Well, you'll see. If you touch anything."

Whilst no follower of fashions, she still recognised that in fact some of the shop's merchandise was quite up to date. A lot of it wasn't.

_Is that knitwear with some sort of deer on it? Who would wear that?_

She had just started stroking a plain white pique shirt, remembering her last swordfighting lesson, with Kurt almost drooling over a bright yellow lady's coat, when the shop owner noticed them, having been busy with another customer. The ginger-haired lady smiled - somewhat manically, in Quinn's opinion - upon seeing Kurt.

"Kurt! I haven't seen you in some time! Will, that is, Fr. Schuester, should really let you kids out more."

Quinn arched an eyebrow at her apparent familiarity with Fr. Schuester. Kurt was obviously used to it, because he didn't even bat an eyelid. He also didn't react when she got out a small cloth and began carefully wiping where the previous customer had been leaning near the till. Quinn's eyebrow, on the other hand, found it could go an inch higher.

"Well, the priory is fairly self-sustaining, as you know. It's just unfortunate that it's been a bad season for our vegetables. Hence the trip in today."

The shop owner's face morphed into an almost hilariously worried expression.

"Oh no, that's terrible. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I don't think so. We just have to get some cabbages and leeks from _Beiste's_, and some more barrels from the _Star_. And of course I just had to come in and have a look around!"

Quinn's eyebrow valiantly attempted to go even higher at Kurt's sheer exuberance, but she managed to reign it back in. She had returned her face to stoic indifference by the time the ginger woman looked over to her.

"And who is your new friend?"

Kurt spun on the spot, eyes wide, having clearly forgotten all about Quinn.

"Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners? Quinn, this is Emma Pillsbury, the daughter of _Pillsbury & Daughter_..."

_You don't say._

"...And Miss Pillsbury, this is Quinn Pierce, she came to stay with us only two weeks ago. This is her first trip into town, but she's from the capital, so I'm sure even your fabulous suits and dresses are a bit provincial for her taste."

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"They're fine, Kurt. I told you, fashion isn't anything I've really paid attention to."

She turned to the other woman, ready to hold out a hand to shake, but something about the almost terrified look that was given to said hand stopped her. She nodded instead.

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Pillsbury."

The wave of relief off of the redhead was palpable.

"It's very nice to meet you too, Quinn. Please call me Emma, though. I've asked Kurt to a million times, but he just won't."

Kurt addressed her.

"Fr. Schuester lays down very specific instructions on how we should address our elders and betters, Miss Pillsbury."

"Well, maybe it's for the best then. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

She had a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, which Quinn found somewhat off-putting.

_Really? For a priest?_

Then Miss Pillsbury's face returned to its apparently natural state of intense unease.

"Wait, you're from the city? Isn't it terrible, what's happened? The King dead, Princess Quinn missing, I just hope the Abbess can deal with these horrible revolutionaries so the poor girl can come out of hiding."

Quinn had frozen halfway through her sentence, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Miss Pillsbury just gave her a compassionate look.

"Is that why you're at the priory? Were your parents caught up in those horrible, horrible events?"

Quinn just nodded, feigning close-to-tears in the hope that it would put Miss Pillsbury off of probing deeper. It worked.

"Oh you poor thing."

Quinn wiped at her eyes, and turned to Kurt, who had apparently also been taken in.

"If you don't mind, I'm just going to take the air outside."

The other two simply nodded, and she left them to their gossip.

* * *

><p>She elected to not really go far, simply leaning against frame of the shop door to engage in some people watching.<p>

She watched traders setting out goods, shoppers perusing wares, a couple arguing in front of the coaching inn.

She watched a dark-skinned girl move through what passed for the crowd. She had a hat pulled low down, so Quinn couldn't see her face properly, but she thought her jaw looked familiar.

In her mind's eye, she saw a tear fall down a cheek, and drip off a similar jaw. She shook her head.

_No, it can't be. It would be too much of a coincidence._

She continued watching the girl as she bumped into the man arguing with his wife, observing her pocket the man's wallet even as she apologised to him.

She saw a Guardsman, a large man who looked like he could either be extremely mean or extremely jovial depending on the situation, sigh and start to move towards the girl, who hadn't seen him.

She leaned back, straightening herself against the doorway, ready to watch the show about to unfurl-

-When Kurt walked out of the shop, passing straight in front of her, and causing her to lose sight of the other girl.

"Shit. Well, thank you very much, Kurt."

Kurt's face morphed itself into its now traditional nonplussed look.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, it's nothing, that Guardsman over there was about to arrest a pickpocket, but now I missed where she went, and he looks like he doesn't know either."

Kurt looked over at the Guardsman.

"Well, I'm sure Karofsky will get his man eventually. He usually does."

"It was a girl."

"It was a figure of speech."

"Right."

Kurt shrugged.

"Well, we'd better get on with the task at hand, so - oh, wait, come and look at this!"

He pulled her just back into the shop and nodded in the direction of the shirt Quinn had been fondling. Emma had put on a pair of delicate kid gloves and was removing the shirt from the mannequin. She carefully folded it and laid it on the counter before removing a shirt of the exact same type from the shelves and putting it on the mannequin instead. She then took the old shirt into the rear of the store. Quinn stared open mouthed at the scene, and Kurt giggled.

"I know, right? Come on, as I said, we'd better get to it."

Quinn nodded, still looking towards the back of the shop. A thought appeared at the back of her head.

"OCD."

"What was that? You shouldn't whisper in polite, if gossipy, company. Especially if gossipy."

"It's nothing."

Kurt regarded her for a second, then shrugged.

"Well, whatever _you_ said, like _I_ said, and for the third time, we'd-"

"-Better get to it, yes. Let's go, then."

Kurt huffed, and walked off towards the general goods merchant he had mentioned, _Beiste's_. Quinn turned to follow him, but noticed that she was standing near the awful woolen sweater with a reindeer on it. She could almost reach out and touch it...

"Come _on_, Quinn!"

...Until Kurt yanked her out of the shop. She quirked an eyebrow at him in annoyance, but he ignored it, and continued walking with her arm in his hand toward the other shop.

"You know you can let go at any time."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry."

He did so. They approached _Beiste's_, which was next to the grocer, and as they were about to enter there was a commotion in that shop and the dark-skinned girl ran out, a half-eaten apple in hand, and barrelled straight into Quinn, sending them both into the dirt whilst Kurt looked on, aghast. As the two of them struggled to get up out of the mud, the Guardsman - Karofsky, Quinn recalled - came out of the grocer and pounced onto the unnamed girl, tying her hands together.

"You've really done it this time, Lopez."

Quinn's head snapped round to stare at the other girl, who's hat had now come off, revealing angry latina features that she hadn't seen in over a year.

_No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, oh **fuck** no, oh **Holy Fucking God No**, I can't deal with this, no, no, no, no, no..._

"Get the fuck off me, you fat sack of crap."

Kurt helped Quinn up as Karofsky dragged _Santana Lopez_ _**Santana Fucking Lopez**__ it's really __**Her**__ oh please __**No**_ off the ground.

"Third time this month, Lopez, it'll be hard labour for you."

"Oh joy," said Kurt.

Quinn gripped Kurt's arms hard, her knuckles going white, and buried her face in his neck, hiding it from view. Something vaguely warm and slimy hit the back of her neck. Santana had spat on her.

"Nice going, blondie."

Even without being able to see her, the sheer venom would've impressed Quinn if she'd been in her right mind. Santana had always had a way with insults, even when she wasn't using the worst language imaginable, it still _felt_ like she was, and it was obviously a skill she hadn't lost the mastery of. Except this time, it wasn't met with a peel of agreeing giggles from the blonde girl, as it would've been before _that_ night, but a very audible crack on the back of the head from the Guardsman.

"_Enough_, Lopez."

He turned his attention to Quinn and Kurt.

"Are you alright Miss?"

Knowing her voice would betray her, Quinn just nodded, face still buried against Kurt.

"Well, okay then. Hope the rest of your day is better. Hummel."

She assumed the Guardsman had nodded at Kurt, because he gave a quick nod in return.

"Karofsky."

She remained pressed against Kurt until she could hear that the man and his prisoner were a fair distance away, then she looked up, searching for them. Karofsky was dragging Santana towards what Quinn presumed to be the gaol, although it looked like most of the fight had gone out of the latin girl, as she wasn't exactly struggling.

She could feel Kurt observing her.

"What?"

"Well, now I'm _certain_ you were just feigning your emotions in Miss Pillsbury's shop."

She glared at Kurt, but he remained sympathetic.

"Oh honey, you're not a good enough actress to fool a drama queen of my standing."

She released him from her death grip and stepped back, rubbing her arms.

"Kurt..."

He reached out patted her on the hand.

"It's alright, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"No, I was just going to say-"

"Yes?"

"-_Never_ call me 'honey' again."

And just like that, she reclaimed her stoicism, wiping her face of all emotion. Kurt just gave her a quick bittersweet smile, and nodded.

"Okay."

He went into _Beiste's_. Quinn again stared after Santana, whom Karofsky had successfully dragged to the gaol. As he forced her inside, Quinn shuddered, and followed Kurt into the store, subconsciously muttering under her breath.

"Santana fucking Lopez."

* * *

><p>Quinn finished loading the boxes from <em>Beiste's<em> onto the cart. That shop had also transpired to have a woman running it, Shannon, and she had been quite jovial, even if Quinn had got the impression she would've rather been working at the smithy two doors down. She had certainly been built like Quinn's stereotyped idea of a blacksmith.

In the end they hadn't needed much; just some boxes of seed to replace damaged stock, some fork handles (which had almost lead to an hilarious misunderstanding thanks to Kurt, but she had managed to avert it), and some replacement tableware. Quinn had briefly suspected that the trip was simply a ruse on Fr. Schuester's part to show her off in town, until she remembered that they _did_ need the beer.

_And if it had been a ruse, wouldn't it've gone spectacularly well if Santana had noticed who I was?_

Shannon let them borrow a 'barrow to take the goods back to their cart, and Quinn had done that whilst Kurt picked up a pallet of tomatoes from the grocer, the Priory's having been affected by blight.

Kurt placed the pallet on top of the boxes, wiped his brow, and turned to her.

"Okay. You take the wheelbarrow back to Miss Beiste, and I'll go talk to Leroy and Hiram."

"Who?"

"The Berrys. They own _The Golden Star_."

"I was beginning to think you only ever called adults by their surnames."

"They've been very good to me, helping me through some trying times."

"Oh. Your Mother's death?"

"Umm, yes, but other things as well. And their daughter Rachel has always been a good friend to me. Well, mostly. When it hasn't conflicted too drastically with her own interests. And even then she sometimes comes around."

"Sounds like a wonderful girl."

"She can be, actually. She also has one of the best singing voices I've ever heard. And I listen to myself sing _a lot_. In fact, I keep asking Fr. Schuester to let us come here at night when she sings to the crowd, but of course he worries about the influence bawdy songs would have on his sweet, innocent young charges. Not to mention her _other_ line of work..."

His last sentence was spoken mainly under his breath, and whilst it did pique her interest, Quinn chose to ignore it.

"Well, I certainly can't wait to meet her after that _glowing_ recom-"

Something Kurt had said suddenly impacted her conscious thought processes.

"Wait, _their_ daughter? As in, Leroy _and_ Hiram's?"

He shuffled from foot to foot.

"Yes... That's not going to be an issue for you, is it?"

"No, no. I'm almost certain one of my Mother's closest friends was actually her lover, so, no."

"Hmm. I don't quite see how that correlates, but nice to know, I suppose."

"Doesn't Fr. Schuester have a problem with it, though?"

"No, fortunately McKinley is so insignificant a town that even though he's allied to the Abbess, he's able to be quite progressive."

"Right. I guess that explains why he hasn't sent Tina or Mike to a different orphanage."

Kurt giggled at that.

"No, he's just that oblivious."

Quinn let out a quiet laugh of her own.

"Now _that_ is nice to know."

She got another giggle in response, and a nod.

"True, true."

Quinn grinned, then, remembering the wheelbarrow, she sighed, and stretched.

"Well, as you said, I'd better be taking this back to _Beiste's_."

"And then I can introduce you to the Berrys."

"Yes."

She started to push the wheelbarrow back to its home, but after only a few feet she stopped and around to address Kurt, who hadn't begun to move off yet.

"Kurt... Is that what they helped you with?"

The boy seemed slightly taken aback, but then gave her an almost infinitesimal nod.

"Yes."

She nodded back.

"Okay."

She resumed her pushing, and he let her get another few feet before piping up himself.

"They could help you, too, if you need it."

Quinn's head shot round so fast she felt she could have given herself whiplash, but she said nothing.

"You have a tendency to stare at Tina's behind. Don't worry, she hasn't noticed. And neither has Mike."

She stared at _him_ a little longer, then went back to pushing the 'barrow. When he piped up again, she ignored him, continuing on her way.

"You'll _really_ like Rachel."

* * *

><p>Rachel, it transpired, was nowhere to be found when Quinn met the Berrys. Kurt introduced her to a short Jewish man named Leroy and a tall Black man named Hiram. She couldn't help thinking that maybe the names should've been the other way around. Or maybe she'd just got the wrong end of the stick; she decided to ask Kurt at a later date.<p>

They bought eight barrels of ale, and with Kurt and the Berrys helping her, they loaded the cart in no time. Afterwards, Kurt stated he had business to discuss with the two men, and went inside with them. Hiram brought out a pint for Quinn, then went back inside.

_Well, they seem nice enough._

It was as she was just finishing off the pint of ale that she heard it. A soft melodious sound just reaching her ears on the wind, it was like nothing she'd heard before.

_Not even the best of the court singers sounds like that._

She put her glass down by the cart and set off in search of the voice.

After investigating the outside of the main building, not wanting to go inside in case she disturbed Kurt and the Berrys, she realised that it was coming from the rear of the inn, from one of the outbuildings situated around a small courtyard.

Investigating further, she found the voice to be emanating from a stable, the main door of which was slightly ajar. She approached the door carefully, so as not to spook the mystery singer.

_If this is Rachel Berry, you have **seriously** undersold her, Kurt._

She popped her head gingerly around the door, trying to cause as little shadow as possible, and was met with a truly breathtaking sight, in both the best and most horrible of fashions.

Her first thought:

_Legs._

Just:

_Legs._

Her second thought:

_Dat ass._

Which was followed very quickly by her third thought:

_I am seriously going to throw the fuck up._

This was because Rachel Berry, if it was she, was bent forwards over a barrel, her obviously already very short skirt hiked up around her hips, having what appeared to be anal sex with a fairly unpleasant looking redheaded boy. She had her eyes closed, and it appeared almost like she was singing to herself.

Fourth thought:

_God, she's beautiful._

Fifth:

_Maybe it's a distraction technique._

"Hey, here's a thought: Why don't you just shut up and let me listen to the sound of my balls hitting your ass? I'm not paying you to sing."

Rachel huffed, but became quiet. Quinn balled her hands into fists, but managed to refrain from marching over and lamping him one.

Sixth thought:

_Paying her?_

Before Quinn could easily reach a seventh, Rachel turned her head towards the door and opened her eyes, instantly locking gazes with her, providing her with one.

_Oh, wow._

The brunette's deep chocolate eyes widened slightly, but she gave no indication to the boy behind her that they were being watched. Despite her disgust at the scene, Quinn found that she couldn't break the connection. She could feel the other girl getting lost in her gaze, and wondered, hoped even, if she was using it instead of singing as her distraction.

The boy gathered pace, and Rachel grimaced. The particular sexual act was not one Quinn had experienced, and the look on the other girl's face was _not_ selling it to her. Of course, even if she _had_ had the opportunity, she couldn't see herself as the one receiving. The boy finished, and relief flooded into Rachel's features, her eyes closing involuntarily as he pulled out. Quinn couldn't help but look at the boy's flacid member, and was relieved to see that he was wearing a thin leather condom.

_At least I hope he is, because if that's his actual thing, he's got more problems than simply being as ugly as all sin and needing to pay for sex._

Her supposition was confirmed when he removed it tossed it down near a bucket of soapy water with a sponge in it. He smirked.

"And that's why they call me 'The Stick'."

Quinn had to turn herself away from the door way and lean against a wall to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

_Does he actually think she enjoyed that?_

"Y'know," she heard him continue, "Those things are awfully messy. I think you should clean me off."

"You haven't paid for that."

"It should be included in the price."

"Well it isn't. Now if you had the extra fifty pieces, I would be glad to service you with oral sex, but I don't believe you do, so please leave so I can get cleaned up myself."

"Nah, I think you'll be doing it anyway."

"Why would I - hey! Get off!"

Quinn sobered instantly, scanning the yard for a weapon. Bingo: pitchfork. She ran and grabbed it, then burst through the stable doorway to see 'The Stick' trying to force Rachel onto her knees. She was putting up an impressive fight, but a losing one. Quinn could see that the boy was excited by the fight, so her plan of attack became obvious. She spun, hitting him square in the chest with the pole of the pitchfork, separating him from his target, then spun again with an upwards motion to bring down her shaft straight onto his. His scream was deafening, and after it faded she could hear people come running.

It was Kurt and the Guardsman, Karofsky, who demanded answers.

"What happened here?"

'The Stick' looked up from a foetal position on the floor, and pointed at Quinn.

"She attacked me! With a fucking quaterstaff!"

"It's a pitchfork, you moron," she turned to Karofsky, "He should feel lucky I didn't use the pointy end, he was trying to rape this girl."

"You can't rape a whore!"

Rachel, previously quiet from her experience, now got angry.

"_Actually_, you _can_, if you try to obtain services that you did not _pay for_."

Karofsky nodded in agreement.

"Sounds good to me. Get up, Rick, you're coming home to a nice cold cell today."

"Fuck you, Karofsky! Why aren't you arresting either of them?"

"Because Rachel's Rachel, Miss...?"

He looked questioningly at Quinn.

"Pierce."

"Miss Pierce here was just performing a public service, and you're an asshole."

He moved over and grabbed Rick's arm, dragging him off without even bothering to let him put his cock away. Quinn looked at Kurt.

"He does a lot of dragging."

"You have no idea."

He came in and stood with Rachel, rubbing her soothingly on the shoulder.

"How are you?"

"I'll be fine in a moment, you know me."

Quinn moved to stand at her other side. Rachel turned to her and smiled.

"Thank you for your swift action. You must be the new orphan Kurt told me about on his last visit. Rachel Berry."

She held out a hand for Quinn to shake. Without thinking, Quinn took it, but in true chivalrous fashion, brought it to her lips and kissed it.

_Her Royal Highness Princess Lucy Quinn Fabray._

"Quinn Pierce. And yes, I'm just here shopping with Kurt for the first time."

"Always an experience."

Kurt glared at Rachel, then exaggerated a nod of agreement. He sighed.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

"_Yes_, Kurt."

"Good. I'd better go reassure Leroy and Hiram."

"That would be a very good idea, yes."

He turned to Quinn.

"We should go, after. Don't be too long."

She nodded.

"Okay."

He left. Watching him go, she felt Rachel move away from her. She turned to see what she was doing, and immediately reddened in the face before quickly turning away again. The other girl had crouched over the soapy bucket, and was cleaning herself. Quinn heard her straighten up, and once again turned to face her, only to deepen her blush because Rachel chose that moment to bend over away from Quinn to pick up the condom.

_At least now I don't have to picture those legs with some horrid Ginger kid attached to them. And God, she's tiny! How did she wind up with legs like that?_

Rachel washed the artifact carefully in the bucket before going over to a saddlebag, taking out a bottle of oil and rubbing some of the contents into the leather, then replacing it. She reached into a pocket on her skirt and took out a thin case, placing the condom inside and then returned it to the pocket.

She regarded Quinn's now quizzical expression.

"If I don't oil it after washing, it'll go dry and hard, and neither my clients nor I would wish for that."

"Makes sense."

"If you're wondering - as I suspect you are, I certainly would be - why a pretty young woman who still lives at home with two doting parents who run a very popular inn would ever stoop to prostitution, I can assure you it is a necessary financial endeavour. My Fathers's relationship may well be legal, but the Abbess her church are dead set against such things, and so they tax us heavily. Far, far above the normal rate."

Quinn just nodded, she vaguely recalled her Father arguing with her Mother over those very laws, but her Father refused to go against the Abbess and risk the wrath of the High King. Rachel smiled at her once again, and Quinn returned it.

_She really is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen._

"Well, thank you for assistance with Rick."

Quinn tapped the pitchfork against the ground.

"That's why they call _me_ 'The Stick'."

Rachel giggled, and it was the second most beautiful sound Quinn had ever heard.

"Really though, thank you. You didn't have to do anything but you did. That deserves a reward..."

Quinn's eyebrow shot up, instantly reaching it's upper limit. Rachel smiled again, obviously finding it cute.

"...We don't have time right now, with you having to leave and me needing to talk to my Dads, but the next time you're in, I will grant you one occasion of the sexual act of your choice for free."

Quinn's eyes went wide, and dark, having not expected that at all. She immediately tried to protest.

"No, I-"

"No, Miss Pierce-"

"Quinn. Please, Miss Berry-"

"Rachel. No, Quinn, I insist. And try to tell me that you don't want to take me up on my offer, because you're really quite obvious. And Fr. Schue would never give you enough spending money to buy an act, so really, you absolutely must accept. Also, it would nice for me to have sex with someone that I actually find attractive for once."

All Quinn could do was open a close her mouth like a fish.

"I shall take that as acceptance. And you can put the pitchfork down now, I think I hear Kurt calling you."

Quinn listened, and sure enough, the boy's voice could be heard calling her name. She dropped the pitchfork and started across the yard, accompanied by Rachel. Halfway over, she tiny girl stopped her.

"Here is where we part for today, Quinn. Despite the circumstances, it really was a pleasure to meet you."

"You too, Rachel."

Rachel stuck her hand out again, but this time when Quinn accepted it, Rachel brought it to her own mouth and kissed Quinn's knuckles. Quinn felt her stomach flutter.

_I wonder if Rachel felt that when I kissed **her **hand._

"Quinn."

"Rachel."

She watched Rachel bounce off towards the main inn building, only to stop when she reached the back door and turn around.

"And Quinn, when you next come around, don't try and get out of it."

She trailed her hand up her thigh and under her skirt, before removing it and licking her fingers.

"For some reason, I just don't like feeling like I owe you, okay?"

Quinn just nodded, once again dumbfounded by the tiny brunette and her ridiculously long legs, who smiled the sweetest smile at her as she disappeared inside the building, leaving Quinn to just stand there until the sound of Kurt calling her once again goaded her to action.

* * *

><p>Quinn had a lot of time to process her thoughts on the ride back with Kurt.<p>

By the time they got back to the priory she was elated at the day's events, with only a nagging worry about Santana eating away at the back of her mind.

She cheerfully helped Kurt unload the cart and put everything away, and then she cheerfully started to prepare some late lunch for the two of them. She smiled to herself as she cut some carrots.

_Rachel Berry._

Of course, moods can change quickly. And elation cannot last.

Her elation lasted until Fr. Schuester pulled her aside and asked her to follow him to his office. She apologised to Kurt, who gave her sympathetic shrug, and did as she was asked. Once in the office, Fr. Schuester motioned for her to sit down, and she did so. The look on his face was not encouraging.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Quinn."

"How could _any_ news possibly make things _worse?_"

The priest winced.

_I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I?_

"Apparently things have been moving faster than I suspected. The Abbess and the High King's army have already moved against the force occupying the castle."

Quinn was incredulous.

"They can't possibly have lost."

"They didn't."

"So what's wrong? Why can't I go home?"

"The Abbess has declared... That the bandits, or revolutionaries, or whatever they were, must have had inside help in storming the castle..."

"Obviously. Probably some disaffected guard or servant."

"Her problem is... You fled."

Quinn failed to see where he was going this.

"Of course I fled! Did she expect to die by my Father's side?"

"I think she expected you to be captured. Maybe so that you would be forced to wed whomever declared himself King, I don't know."

He paused, and sighed. Quinn started to feel very, very, worried.

"She can't possibly think..."

She trailed off. Fr. Schuester nodded, and gripped her shoulder to try and impart some comfort. Quinn suddenly felt overwhelmed, she could barely process her thoughts, and his final statement destroyed her.

"She believes you arranged your Father's death, Quinn. She has declared _herself_ Protector of the Kingdom of Lima, and she has declared _you_ outlaw."

* * *

><p>Quinn was near catatonic for the rest of the day, eventually going to bed early. She did so apprehensively, thinking that she would probably dream of that night in the castle, or of reprehensible actions with Santana, but it turned out her subconscious had other ideas.<p>

Short _brunette_ ideas.

Short brunette ideas with long legs and a perfect rear end.

Ideas that had promised her sex.

And so the floodgates of her dreamworld opened.

Clothes were shed slowly, seductively.

Clothes were ripped off in a passionate fury.

Kisses were tender, hungry, then wanting, as tongues searched for other places to dip in and explore.

Two bodies melting together before exploding in a fireball. Hands gripping, squeezing, rubbing. Fingers tweaking, penetrating.

Soft and slow.

Vicious and fast.

The cacophony of images formed into something clear.

Rachel holding her, their legs intertwined, thighs pressed into centres, moving towards release as the two of them kissed languidly. Quinn had never felt more loved.

Her soft hazel eyes gazed into deep chocolate as they came closer and closer to the inevitable end, the heat becoming deliciously unbearable.

And then it was over, a shared climax obliterating any semblance of conscious thought, sending Quinn even further into the depths of her mind.

She was still wrapped in Rachel, but it didn't last. The image faded, and Quinn suddenly felt very tired, her limbs deadweight. She couldn't even move her head, nor see, even in her mind's eye. But she felt things, further to being so very, very, tired. She felt that she was in a room. And she felt that there was someone with her.

It was Rachel.

Even without seeing, she knew it was. But she was different, or the same.

She looked wrong.

No, right. Quinn could feel her, dressed in her argyle, her reindeer sweater, her knee socks, her beret, her flat shoes, holding her binder.

But that was wrong after all - why would the daughter of tavern owners dress so ridiculously?

She felt this strange Rachel move. She had sat down.

She felt her speak.

"I don't really know what to do, Quinn. Everybody's looking at me, trying to learn how I keep it together, when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and cry."

_Why?_

"Your Mother asked me in here to sing to you. She thinks you'll be able to hear it, and maybe come back to us."

_My Mother died two years ago, Rachel, you've never met her._

"I couldn't think of what to perform, but then I remembered how touched you'd been when the Glee Club sang this to you when you were pregnant."

_Glee Club? Wait, what? I would remember being pregnant. This dream's gotten ridiculous._

But then she felt Rachel start to sing.

"You're not alone, together we stand, I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand..."

Rachel was right, the song was touching, and comforting, and made Quinn feel so, so, good, but she still wanted to wake up, to get back to her Rachel, not this weird imposter. Luckily, she could feel herself begin to drift back up towards consciousness. She could move again, her naked, loving Rachel was back in her arms, and only the faintest echoes of not-Rachel sang through her mind, causing her to sing along too.

_"Keep holding on."_


End file.
